


My everything

by dunneltag879



Category: DC - Fandom, Red Robin - Fandom, Superboy - Fandom
Genre: Crying, Depressed Tim Drake, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kon is a Good Friend, Late Night Visit, M/M, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, kon comforts tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26828389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dunneltag879/pseuds/dunneltag879
Summary: What was intended to be a late night visit to nag the boy to go to bed, Kon finds himself desperately picking up the broken pieces of the boy that he once knew.“What am I...who am I to you?”“You’re my everything,”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	My everything

It was a Thursday night in Gotham city. Raining, per usual, because when was it not? The dense drops of icy water fell in heavy pitter patters on the rooftops, on cars, and the pavement below. The air in the gothic city was musky and cold and yet, a certain kryptonian found himself completely dry. He had himself floating it his bubble to a wide steel balcony now only a few feet in front of him. 

The bubble like force popped as he made his way inside, unlocking and opening the door quietly with the same skills as many other times before, and soon his boots hit marble tile. At least now the rain was not much more than an outside muffle. 

Kon glanced around the room, the apartment was clean, expensive and especially unloved. It was the type of clean before company would come over when your mom would make sure the house looked completely unlived it. The easy answer was the obvious daily or weekly maid, however he still found it very eerie. 

It all just looked completely plastic. Plastic, not in a cheap way but, plastic in the sense that the owner was fake, that this wasn’t really them. He had hoped that at least this time, it wouldn’t feel like another Barbie house—a mere toy, though the new living space was very easy to disappoint.

“Why are you here?” A frustrated voice called, to which he had figured came from the open bathroom down the hall. Kon had tried to be quiet, tried to not disturb, and quite honestly he hasn’t actually made any noise at all. Detectives instinct. 

When Kon approached the bathroom, he could see the voice’s owner finally, and the plastic boy did indeed match the plastic apartment. He was a mere Barbie boy in his little Barbie world.   
“Tim,” Kon smiled, to which the boy let out a softer sigh, though the agitation was still visible in his voice. He could even see the boy wince. 

“What are you doing here? It’s four in the morning,” Tim replied. He was sitting on the marble counter, wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. His Red Robin suit was thrown around in pieces on the floor, the cowl next to him, boots in the hall and all the rest of the suit thrown in the corner next to the shower. Tim had his head turned to the left of him, trying it best to get a good look at his shoulder in the mirror, it was slit open and bleeding. He seemed to be attempting at a sorry excuse for stitches, but with the angle and the way the mirror made everything backwards, Kon could only shiver as he watched the boy poke the wrong spots of tender skin with the sharp needle. 

“I was-“ Kon started. Then he shook his head, sighed and inched his way more into the room and made his way up to the boy. “This is actually painful to watch, allow me,” he sighed, giving a half chuckle as he took the needle in his hand, only to begin sewing the porcelain skin together, amazed at how easily it went through. “I was just in the neighborhood and I figured I’d might as well drop by and nag you to go to sleep, assuming you were still awake—which you are.” He finished, keeping a steady hand as he continued the stitches. He watched Tim wince a bit every now and then. “Your turn though, how’d you get this nasty cut?” Kon gestured to his shoulder, not breaking his concentration. 

“Just a long day with too many people I didn’t want to see or meet or cross paths with. I also should have been able to dodge that hit to my shoulder, but for some reason my reaction time slowed, and I barely made it back here in one piece,” Tim sighed, looking in the opposite direction for a while, then his eyes trailed to the red “S” on his friend’s shirt. 

Both seemed to not want to give too much information about their whereabouts, and given it was collective, neither pushed the other to expand as they didn’t feel like mirroring the same. 

Kon finished up the stitches, he knotted the thread carefully, then began gently wrapping the shoulder in some gauze that laid on the counter next to Tim. His eyes trailed as well, his friend was paler than usual, his cheekbones more defined as were his collarbones. His abdomen seemed to have had also been cut weeks ago, with stitches that seemed long overdue to be taken out. But, compared to the rest of his face, his lips were bright red, his overgrown hair was damp from the rain and heavy eye bags still somehow managing themselves visible under the messy remains of the smudged black makeup around his eyes. He actually didn’t even look plastic. Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne—the playboy philanthropist did look plastic, the pretty kind of plastic. But this was Red Robin Tim, and he was not plastic no, he was overworked and quite frankly always looking dead. This time he just seemed to go overboard with the overworked part. 

Kon sighed softly as he put the gauze down, only to reach for a few cotton pads and the bit of makeup remover that sat on the counter. He applied the liquid to the cotton before gently dragging it along Tim’s eyes, one at a time, taking the makeup off him. He used about five cotton pads till those gorgeous blue eyes stared up at him, this time clean with natural dark rings. Suddenly though, the eyes were crying, now looking away. Kon watched as Tim lower his head, wiping his sudden tears with his palms, and he even swore he heard the boy mutter a soft “I’m sorry,” 

He couldn’t let this go on though, no not his Robin, not his best friend. So, Kon scooped Tim’s fragile frame into his embrace, allowing silent tears turn into shaky sobs on his shoulder. Seeing the boy in this rough of shape was a rare occurrence, only now, ever since he’s been back, these rare cries were rather frequent. Tim was falling apart right before his very eyes—and Kon would not do a single thing about it. He felt helpless, though like many times before he was determined to help.

“Hey, hey. What’s eating you up?” He asked finally when the sobs quieted and the boy in his arms stopped shaking, he only felt a shallow breath on his neck. 

Tim stayed silent for a while, to which Kon gave him the time. He could feel large hands rubbing calmed circles on his back, and Tim pulled himself closer into the warm hug, holding on much tighter than the times he’s beset fallen to his death only for Kon to grab him. This felt similar, only Tim found himself much more fearful of falling.  
“I just..” he finally spoke, making an attempt to find the right words. It wouldn’t be another seven seconds before he answered again, “I just can’t do it anymore, Kon. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I’m doing. Sure, it’s fun to be rich and cool to be a vigilante, but I can’t find it in myself to appreciate me.” 

The nearly silent words broke Kon’s heart into two, Tim was clearly hurting, he’d known so for a while but he was now deeply afraid his Robin was completely broken. He was determined to pick him back up, to catch him and steady him on calm ground. That is, if Tim would allow for him to do so.

“Hell, I don’t even know who I am, Kon. Who am I? Am I Tim Drake? Am I Red Robin? And, who do I want to be? Because quite honestly,” his voice drew out till his head came up to look Kon in the eyes, and finally the glossy blue irises were visible to the half-kryptonian.   
“I’m not liking either one of them right now,” Tim admitted, and oddly it had been a lot easier to come clean about than he had anticipated. 

Kon couldn’t hear anymore of it though, he gently pulled away and pulled Tim back in, his rough hands cupping Tim’s cheeks as he pulled her foreheads together. Skin brushed skin right when Tim allowed himself a few more hushed tears.

The blue eyes from before stared back at him yet again, this time closer, this time glossier. And, maybe it was because they were tired, or maybe they were both too lost in their own heads, but neither of the boys blushed or became embarrassed, simply enjoying each other’s company in a calm, nearly yearning manner. 

Tim’s palm’s found their way to Kon’s neck, and he found himself staring duly at the rather handsome boy in front of him. “Kon,” he finally spoke, though it was not much other than a cracked whisper. Kon stared back, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb, Tim allowed him and even began to lean into his touch. “What am I...who am I, to you?” 

Their lips crashed then, the delicate touch turning into a rougher dance. They pulled each other as close as they were able, Tim’s fingers managing to crawl up from the nape of Kon’s neck to the back of his head, while his other hand traced the “S” symbol on his chest out of pure memory of its shape. Kon managed shivered at the ghostly touch, keeping one hand to cup Tim’s cheek while his other gripped his thigh. Maybe it was unhealthy, maybe that’s not how you’re supposed to deal with being sad and emotional, but it felt rather needed in the moment. Their heads tilted, noses brushed, and salty tears fell from cheek to cheek, dripping down pale skin to sharp bone.

With that they lost many seconds of oxygen, though not that either cared, they both seemed far too lost and deep in the lovely trance, nipping and grasping at one another hungrily. 

“You want to know who you are?” Kon’s voice was rougher when they pulled away, as if he had just woken up. And as they caught their breath, Kon trailed his thumb along scar after scar down Tim’s bicep, to his torso and up his neck. “You’re my everything.” He stated finally, to which Tim slumped forwards, his forehead placed back against Kon’s shoulder, hiding a wide grin and a few stray tears. 

“Ha...that’s, thats actually very nice, I think I’m okay with just that for now...” Tim breathed, right before being pulled back in for another kiss, this one softer and more gentle—but just as passionate. 

“My teammate, my Robin, my best friend, my everything.” Kon repeated to him, cupping his cheeks again as he kissed away more of Tim’s tears, who which couldn’t find any more words in his throat. 

It was clear they were both overwhelmed with love, with passion and with slight grief of innocent adolescents. Still, Kon kissed and loved on his Barbie boy, his Barbie boy in his much too clean, plastic, Barbie house. Only, besides it all, the world wasn’t as perfect as he was, though it sure was plastic. 

Kon didn’t think Tim was very much plastic after that night though, not after waking up holding him in his arms, not after putting him to sleep with soft murmurs and the soft circular massage on his back just as before. No, Tim was more fragile. He was more breakable, like glass or porcelain. So he was a mere China doll, with a heart as easily as breakable as his bones, with thin and easily scarred ski, and ghostly fair tone surrounding big blue eyes. 

China doll or Barbie doll, neither was the point. Because, Kon intended on filling his robbed heart with pure love. He intended to stitch the broken boy up as kindly and as gently as he did his stitches only hours before. All of it, because Timothy Jackson Drake Wayne, the Red Robin, the playboy, the vigilante, his teammate, his best friend, his one true love, was indeed Kon’s everything, as did he intend it would stay that way forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading I really enjoyed writing this and I’m hoping to have many more one shots out or who knows maybe a series? Anyway my tumblr handle is @klariwitch if you’d like more Tim drake and timkon content!!!


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